


Love Like Wind

by blubirdies



Category: A Walk to Remember (2002), Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M, badass!jared, bottom!Jensen, virgin!Jensen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-12 11:33:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/811125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blubirdies/pseuds/blubirdies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared is the big man on campus, cocky and popular and Jensen's bully for years. After a hazing gone too far, he's sentenced to community service at the orphanage and being the lead man in the school play. After realizing his parents are divorced for real and he has no future in front of him, he's lost. </p><p>Jensen's the Reverend's son, soft-spoken and god-fearing. After losing his mother in an auto wreck, he's lost. </p><p>They find each other, and they're not so lost anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I watched the chick-flickiest chickflick of all time and look what happened. Never again.

Jared:

I was seventeen when I met him. It’s funny how you go through life smiling, seeing nothing wrong and feeling better than the world. But looking back, years later, you realize how foolish you were to not hold everything you took for granted dear to you and never let go. To hug them, and hold them and tell them how much they mean to you.

I realize this on a lonely Wednesday, as I was looking into the sunset, feeling nostalgic and older than my years.

Anyways, I was seventeen. Last year of high school, not expecting anything great from my life to happen. How wrong I was.

The first time I realized I wasn’t going to amount to much was the time I saw Tom Welling in the hospital after the incident. We didn’t mean for it to end like that, seriously. It was supposed to be a joke. Just a meaningless joke. We half expected him not to even bother listening to us. We told him we were going cliff-jumping off the beach. The only beach in this little hick-county we lived in.

It was raining, I remember, clear as day. It was thunderin’ real loud, and my boys and their girls had come to watch. They were drinking something awful strong, the smell of whiskey and weed filling the humid air. The rain was pounding down, coming in all directions. I stood there on the cliff with him, giving him shot after shot of whatever liquor the boys bought. I cheered him on, telling him I was gonna do it with him. I knew what I was doing. I was feeding him lie after lie about how this was going to make him a cool kid. How this was just “initiation”, never believing he’d actually do it.

Tom Welling was a good kid. Too good, some may say. But he was naïve, and that’s how this happened. At least that’s what I told myself.

He was all bandaged up, like a mummy. He had bruises all along his face, real scraped up from the rocks. It was a pretty high jump, too.

He was watching Sesame Street as if it was the greatest movie he’d ever seen. His eyes were watering, I wondered if that was from the pain or anger at me. “Get out.” He whispered, voice cold and steeled against me.

I winced, lowering my gaze to the floor. I walked over and put the overly cheerful “Get well soon!” card on the nightstand next to him. He barely glanced at it.

“Please, just let—“ I started, but was soon cut off. “No! You don’t get to do anything to me!” He whisper-yelled, all the hatred and heat immediately making itself heard to me. “I’m sorry.” I had whispered, meaning it completely.

The snuff showed up coupla minutes after he hit the water and wasn’t showing up. The girls were crying, no one found who called the police though. We all tried to get away, but the police soon caught up.

I was the main reason this happened, so of course my “buddies” ratted me out immediately. I was doomed. My mom was a very well off lawyer, my dad a hugely successful cardiologist. They were separated. They were not going to be pleased.

I was a bad kid. I knew that. They knew that, but it still sort of stung to see my mom cry about me on the phone or lecture me. She hated what I had become, and so did I, back then.

I took their divorce pretty hard, if I’m honest to myself. I spent days in my room, skipping school for a week. It was pretty bad. It was pretty cliché actually. I turned into a weed-smoking, alcohol drinking bad boy.

Anyways, the police drove me home, giving me a longass verbal beating along the way, replacing “bad boy names” with “son” and “kid”. I kinda got used to that, though.

It didn’t hurt half as bad as the look my mom got as soon as she opened the door and saw me. Her narrow nose creasing with the smell of whiskey and cigarette smoke from my breath, it made me feel inadequate, for lack of better word.

My mom didn’t yell. She just isn’t that type. She just sat me down, passed me a bible, and left. My dad was different, though. He drove over at three in the morning, screaming until the sun rose. I wasn’t crying. I was used to it, by now.

The next day, the principal got wind of my situation. I was threatened with expulsion, and at that point, I didn’t even care. He sighed. “Jared, you gotta step up your game, son. This is really serious and Tommy’s parents are threatening with law, man. I’ll let you off the hook but you gotta do some community service and we think that some extra-curricular activities might do you some good. So you’re gonna volunteer at the orphanage and join drama club, ‘kay kid?” Principal Beaver was cool like that. He was a retired minor league baseball coach, so he knew how to speak with “my kind”.

I honestly didn’t even mind the punishment. I really didn’t. It was my parent’s disappointment I couldn’t take. But I guess I was used to that too.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

It’s not like I’ve never noticed him before. He’s been in my class every year since preschool. He was Jensen Ackles. He was the preacher’s son. Everyone knew him. He was alright looking I guess, but he dressed like he was Amish. He wore the same button down and cardigan everyday. He always had his nose in some book, or some ratty bible which looked like it came from the thirteen hundreds.

He was the definition of a goody-goody. And it got on my and everyone’s nerves. He volunteered at the orphanage for fun. The strongest word in his language was ‘Mercy!’ and he was in the junior’s choir in church. He had a pretty tuff voice, I guess.

But he was as low on the popularity scale as you could get. He was right down there with picks-his-nose pete and his-mom-still-dresses-him Richard. Which is why I would never get caught dead talking to him.

He had been giving me funny looks all day at the orphanage. Kind of a pondering glance every so often. I wasn’t really interacting with the kids, too damn depressing I guess. I just swept the floors with my Walkman securely plugged into my ears. I listened to Led Zepplin and ignored him.

But I couldn’t really ignore him when he casually slipped into the seat next to mine on the bus home. I gave him a look that wasn’t exactly my most welcoming face.

He ignored it, of course. “Hi, Jared.” He said, a knowing smile on his face. It was unsettling. “Hi, Jenny.” I mocked back, feeling the ugly bitterness bubble up from my toes to his hairline.

Everyone called him Jenny. He was stupid pretty, for a boy. Long eyelashes, pink lips. If he wasn’t the preacher’s kid people would be calling him faggot left and right, I would think.

He stares into my eyes for a second, his eyes greener than spring grass, then lets his gaze flicker to the bible clutched tightly in his hands.

“Why do you carry that book around all the time?” I asked, snarky and genuinely curious at the same time.

He looks at the artifact in question, then back at me. He shrugs, “It’s special to me I guess.” He said, tracing the spine of the book with one finger.

“So I guess you’re some bible-humpin’ nun? Is that why?” I asked, or demanded rather. He looked taken back for a second, a wave of hurt flashing through his wide, green eyes.

“Don-Don’t say that.” He stutters, cowering away from me on the seat and slightly scared. “Don-Don-Don’t” I mocked, half enjoying the way he bit his lips and looked down, ashamed looking.  
“Don’t pretend you know me, Jared Padalecki.” He whispers, eyes down for a second and before I knew it, his eyes were staring right into mine. Not at them, but into them.

I felt horrible to say the least. No one would have expected that from Jensen Ackles, queen of the goody-goodies. I chuckled, no humor actually in it though.

“Except I do know you. We’ve lived in the same town our whole lives. You’re Jenny Ackles. You’re the preacher’s son. You wear the same perfectly ironed button down and blue sweater every. Single. Day. You always have that stupid book with you, and you volunteer at the orphanage for fun.” I half yelled at him. He recoiled at the word “stupid” as if it was a slap.

“You don’t even know anything. You should try praying one day. You’ll feel better.” He said, eyes unbelievably green and pretty right then. I gave him a saracastic look.

Then he was gone. Away from me, away from the seat. I shrugged, pretended like I didn’t care. I just turned up my Walkman and stared out the window. I didn’t care. I was used to that too.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

It wasn’t till later, when I was laying on my bed throwing a baseball up high and catching it that I realized what just happened.

Jensen Ackles was talking to me. Even though my gang and I made a fool of him like it was our mission. He didn’t even seen bitter, just hurt. It wasn’t my fault, I tried to reason with myself. It was his problem he was so different.

He didn’t have much friends, that I knew for a fact. Table 7, the table he sat with, was full of the nobodies. They weren’t even all friends, they just fit together, ‘cause they didn’t fit anywhere else. That much was true. But he didn’t seem to care, he didn’t seem to need anyone.

Jensen just seemed to need his book and his cardigan, I guess. But I didn’t know how wrong I was till later in my life.

I wanted to sleep, but sleep didn’t come to me easy. It hasn’t since the incident. I would ease myself to sleep, but immediately be jolted awake with the sound of Tom’s scream as he crashed into the waves below him.

It was hard. So I stayed awake. I got the script to the play. It was some cheesy musical about some folks in love in the 40’s. It was gonna be a challenge actually dedicating myself to this kind of bullshit. Jensen was in the play too, I realized, looking at the cast list. That made sense, he was theater-kid lookin’, I guess.

I turned around and pressed my face into the pillow, realizing it was hard. I shuffled under it and pulled out the bible my mom handed me. I snorted, even in my head.

A bunch of words on paper wasn’t going to cure my troubles. A man with a beard up in the clouds weren’t going to make my parents love each other again. I flipped through it, just for kicks.

“Give thanks to the God of heaven, for his steadfast love endures forever.”- Psalm 136:26.

"Steadfast love," I snorted. Yeah right. If this so called steadfast love was enduring, god sure has a funny fucking way of showing it.

Steadfast love was not starving children. Steadfast love was not sickness, or pain, or anger. Steadfast love wasn’t his family falling apart.

The bible immediately reminded me of Jensen. How could he believe in this bull? How could he read this and find comfort, not bitter ridicule?

He sighed, anger slowly slipping out of him. It wasn’t fair that some kids had nothing to worry about. I was wrong about that too.

I remembered his words, telling me to pray. I tried. For the first time in what seemed to be my entire life, I prayed. At the advice of Jensen Ackles, on top of that.

God, or whoever's listening up there, I want help. I want a miracle. I want you to show yourself to me. If you exist, I want my life back. I want my parents back. I want to be happy. Help. 

I slipped off into an uneasy sleep, later that night. I’ll be damned if anyone ever found out I cried right there.

The next day I went early to school with some of my buddies. We scouted out Jensen, who came to school at exactly 7:45 everyday. He had just waved goodbye to his dad’s old silver pick up truck. His bible still securely attached to his arm.

Chad, he was kind of an ass. He got up, and stood directly behind Jensen, a shadow about two feet taller than him. He mocked Jensen’s walk, gaze adverted down to the floor, hands clasped together. My gang chuckled at that.

All but me. I had a straight face, and that wasn’t okay. So when he passed the car whose hood we were currently sitting on, I stuck my foot out and tripped him.

A look of panic flashed through Jensen’s eyes. He tumbled facefirst into the mud. Both his blue sweater and his bible completely drenched in mud. I felt horrible right after it happened. Time seemed to pass slowly. The loud laughter of my friends slowly fading into nothing. I just stared as he got up, the sound of mud squishing under his feet.

It was everywhere, all over his chest, his beloved blue cardigan, but more importantly, his bible. The delicate cover had fallen off under Jensen’s weight. It was coated in a heavy layer of mud. His eyes were adverted from his, but he could tell he was crying, the quiet sobs wracking his body. He ran.

He wasn’t in school for the rest of that day. He wasn’t at the orphanage either. He wasn’t in school the day after that either. He was half-thankful for that. It meant Jensen wouldn’t have to deal with us for the days.

Saturday was spent moping around the house, turning down his friend’s offers to hang out.

Sunday was the day I followed my mom to church, her surprised smile making it worth it. I didn’t have the heart to tell her it was only to go look at Jensen and how he was holdin’ up.

He was there, as expected I guess. He wasn’t on the stage when the choir went to sing though. I was strangely worried. He just sat there, his seat on the front row moved to the seat in the back of the room. He was pale, and I could tell he was crying hours before. His blue cardigan was replaced with a red hoodie that was more socially acceptable, but it was obvious he didn’t look comfortable in it. His bible was no where to be scene, but his hands were still clasped in front of him as if it was still there. Like a phantom limb.

He caught me staring at him, his gaze meeting mine in one breath taking moment. His eyes grew even sadder, then. He turned away making me feel like a horrible person. I was used to that too.

I looked down at my hands, feeling horrible. He was biting his lip in that stupid adorable way, again. It just made me feel even worse.

I guess I was used to that too.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little prologue on Jensen and his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this interlude about Jensen is before the chapter in the POV of Jared, if I didn't make that clear.

Jensen:

I knew the looks they gave me in the hall. I knew I was different from everybody else. But I was okay for a long, long time with my life. I didn’t really care for whatever Neil Diamond record out, or smoking cigarettes or wearing whatever trendy outfit at the department store that just opened up down the road.

I reckon that’s what made me different.

I didn’t really need much in my life, before I met Jared Padalecki. I didn’t need friends, I didn’t need approval from them. I guess it’s ‘cause I didn’t really have much besides my Ol’ Pop, and God.

School wasn’t really the top of my interests these days. I sure did well and whatever, it just wasn’t worth taking too seriously. Not with Jared Padalecki and his gang and his stupid smile making me feel like an outsider. I moved on from that, or at least that’s what I told myself. It hurt the hear ‘em, still. But I could deal, I always did. I was my momma’s lil’ snail. It’s because I never gave up, she’d say. But that was way back when. She’s gone now.

It’s just my Pops and I, now. And we do alright, most of the time anyway. My dad’s the minister and my mom was his organist. Just always been like that, before she got killed in some auto wreck by some drunk id’jit.

That’s why I never drink, or smoke, or anythin’ that made me all loopy and stuff. Not to mention the Lord doesn’t approve of drunken dummies, or that’s what my dad says at least.

All I really want in life is to see a miracle, and the discover a planet. I got a whole bucket list of things I wanna do before I pass on, but that’s at the top I guess.

Since I could remember, I always went to the orphanage. My mom always made it her business to make sure all the lil’ kids who didn’t have no mom, had one. I always sent down cookies or something for her, and it was just always like that.

I miss her a lot, most of the time I’m thinking about her. How would she take things happening? What did she think of the new seafood place on the pier? If she’. I know she’s in a better place and all that, and god has a plan for alla us, I just wish it didn’t workout like this sometimes.

I wonder if Padalecki or Murray’s got a mom. Cause if they did I wonder if they cared what their sons got up to. If my mom found out I was puffin’ weed and drinkin I woulda got whipped all the way downtown. But that was only cause she cared. She was just like that.

I think about Padalecki a lot. I always did. Even in first grade, I would think about his floppy hair and his dimpley cheeks. He was in my class every year up until the seventh grade.

He used to come to church a lot too. Was even in the choir. But when I asked Dad why he stopped, he frowned. Said something about his parent’s splittin’. Wasn’t really common way back then, but wasn’t completely out of this world earth-shatterin’.

I wondered how he took it. I didn’t really know why Padalecki meant so much to me and my silly head, but I guess it was his long floppy hair and his hazel eyes.

I guess he thinks about me too, a lot. His friends were always teasin’ me and my threads. I didn’t really care much about that.

___________________________

I was sittin’ in the back of the school on a bench, reading my mom’s bible like usual. It was a little warm for the sweater she knitted me, but I didn’t take it off.

Padalecki and his gang came out back too, and I bit my lip. I was hopin’ and prayin’ they didn’t see me. I could tell from thirty feet away they were blitzed off their heads.

They were wobbling about, ditzy looking. It sorta reminded me of Bambi takin’ his first steps. Padalecki and Chad were takin’ drags from the same cigarette. They were loud, and I wasn’t the only one who noticed them. They were the obnoxious-loud. The look-at-us-we’re-having-fun kinda loud.

It was kind of scary, if I was honest with myself. You could never tell with them. I heard them talking and my breath hitched, blood rushing away from my face.

“There’s Jenny Ackles! He’s so square!” Someone in their clique shouted, purposefully so I heard them. I never fought back with them, never fought back to anyone. I just let ‘em, this was god’s plan I guess.

A clean lookin’ bird with brown hair, some girl called Sandy, or more commonly known as “Jared’s girl.” Standing next to Chad glanced at me and gave me a sympathetic glance. I gave her a half smile, and looked down, hoping my dad was coming in his truck to come get me.

Padalecki just looked out of it. His eyes lidded, hair flopping right into his eyes, yet he made no move to flip it out. He was still bummin’ a smoke from Chad. He gave me a smirk and I knew something was gonna go down.

He came straight at me, and I flinched at the sight. He couldn’t really even run straight. “Hi, Jenny,” He said, making his tone over sweet and sarcastic.

I stared straight into the grovel I had previously scuffed up with my shoes. I hoped it’d give me the answers to the world. It didn’t.

I got up to leave, but was pushed down immediately. Suddenly I was hyper aware of the fact that his clique suddenly was surrounding me, no way of getting out.

“Where ya goin’, Jennifer?” Chad taunted, his voice drowned out by the cruel laughter of his friends. “Pro’ly to go retouch his lipstick. Jenny you’re so pretty, tell me your secrets.” Sandy mocked, and I realized I had no one on my side. It sort of stung, but not really. It was mildly scary how I was alright with that.

Padalecki snickered, “Look at him. Where’s your dad, Jenny? Does he know you’re a giant fag?” And that’s what hurt the most.. I bit back the tears and just stared a particularly interesting rock.

Everybody laughed at that. It sort of just echoed through my mind. My heart was beating a mile a minute, and I was sure I was sweating and turning as red as a cherry.

Suddenly, I guess god heard my prayers. A hot read mustang, polished till it was gleaming rolled in. It was truly a sight to be seen. Even I saw the beauty that car held, and I didn’t even know worldly things like cars. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who appreciated the beauty, as many blew out a low whistle. “Ohh, hot damn. Guys, look at this!” Padalecki hollered at his crew, and many gave the car a good look.

A guy about six foot two comes out, dressed sharp in a pair of shades stepped out. His hair perfectly greased into place. He was real handsome lookin’. “Hey, man! Far-out ride you got ‘ere.” Chad chuckles, pulling his own shades onto his forehead. Many grin and nod in agreement.

This was my salvation. No one really cared about me, the little geek kid. I slowly snuck away from their circle and saw my Pop’s silver truck, him frowning slightly at the unsightly look of the entire group. My dad worries about me a lot I guess. “Hey, pop.” I said, voice low and even. “Hey Jen,” He said, then gives me an uncertain look. “Yo-You weren’t hangin’ around that group o’ kids, right?” I look bewildered for a second.

“ ‘Course not, dad. You know them. Padalecki was- was..” I looked for an answer. I didn’t want to lie, but I didn’t want my dad to worry about them givin’ me a problem. “Just asking me about the play for drama club.” I said and he raised and eyebrow, but didn’t press the matter further. My dad was pretty cool like that. He didn’t hover too bad anyways.

To be honest with you, I was pretty shaken up with the whole thing with Padalecki. He called me a fag, which did rattle me a bit. Nobody really had to the nerve to call me gay, what with me being the precher’s kid and all. I felt trapped, sometimes, like I had nowhere to go. Like no one would listen. I didn’t really belong here, I suppose. I don’t really belong anywhere.

I wondered if his words held truth. I did think about him a tad more than the next straight guy, but I don’t think that made me a fag.

My dad wouldn’t really mind it much, I suppose. He always said he’d love me for me, not the girl I was seein’. So I didn’t know why it bothered me so much.

“Hey, Jense,” My dad hesitated, “You sure you ain’t messing around with those kids, right?” And my face turns pale, I’d imagine anyway.

“Yeah, dad. Sometimes they think it’s real funny to tease me, but I can take it.” I said, voice bleak like the cloudless sky ahead.

“You, You don’t want me to have a talk with them or anything right?” He asked, and it was then when I appreciated just how much my dad cared about me.

“Daddy, it’s fine. Promise, I can handle ‘em. What can’t I handle with my Ackles charm?” I asked, false humor dancing through my eyes. I couldn’t tell my dad ‘bout any of that, he’d worry too much.

He chuckled at that; the big manly chuckle where his head tips back and his body shakes. I tried to do that when I was younger, wanting to be like my manly dad. It turned out it didn’t work as well as he did it.

“You always did have your mom’s humor,” He said suddenly, eyes growing hazy with nostalgia. I added with a snort, her girly looks too.

The rest of the drive was spent talking about his day, then my day, then his sermon for next Sunday. It felt good to talk to him like that.  
_________________

I played piano like a bird flew in the air, my momma always said. Said I was “born to do it”, But that part I wasn’t so sure about. I wasn’t born to be anything but pretty, I think.

I watched as my fingers dance across the keys, playing a tune I’ve played countlessly before. It was the song I played at her funeral, too. It almost didn’t look like my hands, so fast paced and dramatic, like a whirlwind. It slowly died down to a soft breezy type of tune, and that’s when I realized I was crying. I didn’t even notice it. My tears was falling all over the keys, making it slippery, but I just kept going.

I didn’t stop, not even when I was sobbing so hard when throat hurt and my eyes were almost swollen shut. “I miss you,” I whispered suddenly, hands stilling against the piano keys.

I just stared down at my hands, feeling sad. I jumped when my dad placed a steady hand on my shoulder. “Hey, kiddo.” He said softly, I loved my dad, truly.

“I miss her.” I said, my voice sounding broken and hoarse even to my own ears. It was true, I missed her. I missed her in the morning. I missed her in the afternoon. I even missed her oatmeal, which she managed to burn every single time.

My dad sighed, his hand coming to rest in his graying hair. “I know, Jense. I do too, everyday. But you know god works in mysterious ways. She’s in a better place, isn’t she? She ain’t sufferin’, she don’t have to work hard no more. God just wanted her back with him, and that’s that.” He said softly, eyes gentle and heartfelt.

“I wish she was here. I wish she didn’t die.” I shook out, and I realized just how hard this hit me. I hadn’t cried since the funeral, I was absolutely bawling then. I told myself I was fine, but I really wasn’t. I really wasn’t at all.

“She didn’t die, not really. She’ll always be with us; we just can’t see her just yet. She’s just waiting for us, Jen.” He said. My dad always knew just what to say.

“She’s like the wind, you know. You can’t always see it, but you can feel it.” His eyes closed, the soft wind whistling through the open window and fanning out in front of his face.

Yeah, she is like the wind, ain’t she?

______________________________

We were saying grace before dinner when it hit me. God just wanted the best for her, she was too good for earth. She would’ve belonged up there, y’know? Dancin’ with the angels and playing organ and watching down on us. She didn’t deserve to belong in the rinky-dink little shack we called a home, and this tiny little town.

I was okay, or I will be. I didn’t need a reason to hate god, I really didn’t. It was okay, I’ll be okay.

I told myself that till I fell asleep.

I saw Padalecki again today. I was walking to check up on the jars, when I saw him.

The jars were these little red coffee jars I set up all across town at every counter at every major shop people hung out at. It was where people could drop any change in there, and those were the funds for the orphanage. Sometimes I get a slug or a worm or something. Some kids were really immature, I guess.

Padalecki and his boys were walking, looking real tough. They all got a slight greaser look to ‘em, I reckon. All demeaning and leather jackets. I shivered, looking at my own cozy knitted cardigan. I lay a couple of meters behind, to not attract attention to me from them.

I could still hear them, faintly. I wasn’t eavesdropping or anything, of course. We were just going to same way, I told myself.

“My dad’s thinkin’ of getting me a T-bird, y’know for graduation.” Chad was saying, that’s all their gang seemed to care about. Cars, and chicks. And weed.

“Man, that’s so sick. My dad hates me, he won’t ever buy me my own ride, I still drive that crappy mom-mobile.” Padalecki exclaimed, bitterness finding its way to his voice. I was curious at that, I would think he had a pretty good homelife if they let him smoke or whatever.

Chad chuckles at that, and Tom Welling and Michael sorta just stay quiet. It was obvious even to me they were just stringing them along.

They turn into a drugstore and I watch from behind the glass window. Very stealthily, I see Padalecki slip a big slug from the pocket of his greaser-jacket and into the donation jar I was about to collect.

A sudden surge of hurt and sadness shook me. It was them the entire time. I always convinced myself it was some school kids in elementary school or something.

I saw Padalecki snigger to his friend, and my blood turns cold. All the pent up anger slowly built up and I almost marched right in and shoved their faces in. But I’m not like that, not really. It’s not worth getting mad at them, treat your neighbor with love and all that I guess.

My hands shook with unconcealed anger and sadness. Especially the one clutching my mom’s bible. I was sort of a pushover, I suppose, ‘cause I just kept walking and pretending I was okay.

I was always good at pretending I wasn’t hurting when I was, I suppose.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jared and Jensen make up, sort of. Jared's still kinda damaged and Jensen's still kinda sweet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Happy memorial day for all my readers in America! Decided to give you guys an extra long (sappy/crappy/boring/filler/) chapter! Enjoy guys and I need to get myself a beta. Seriously.

**Jared:**

I wasn’t always like this, you know. I didn’t always chase skirt, and smoke and drink. I don’t even know how I turned from a little kid in glasses with a huge crush on Dolly Parton to what I am now, a disappointment.

 

I see the look in my mom’s eyes sometimes; you know the look when your parents give you when they’re so tired and disgraced at your behavior, but with my mom, it’s always there. Just a bitter, cold mask that reminds me every time I look at her what I’ve become.

 

It’s like I can’t stop with being an asshole. It’s so scary to think that this is just _me._ That it’s not because of pure pressure, or my need to rebel. That this is just my personality, something I can’t change or shake off at all. That it’s going to follow me all my life.

 

I look at Jensen sometimes, and I feel like shit. He’s the living residual of all my past fuck-ups. He looks at me, and he probably see’s the devil staring right back at him. He looks at me, and he probably sees the reason god created hell. For people like me. Heck, when I look into a _mirror_ that’s what I see.

 

When I look at Jensen, it’s like I can’t control myself. It’s like all the things that I know are wrong, don’t matter. I can’t stop. I can never stop with him. I just keep pushing and pulling at him, and making him feel like shit, to make him feel like _me._

 

It’s like a drug I can never get in rehab for. And it made me want to pull my hair out in anger.

 

I was flipping through a photo album, one labeled with my name on it. It had almost every moment of my life outlined through since I was born. I was flipping through the countless amounts of baby pictures, the super embarrassing ones in the tub that moms like to show to girlfriends. Then I saw it.

 

It was a picture of Jensen and I, looking no bigger than six, judging by the dark gaps in our teeth and our baby fat laden cheeks. I cocked my head, I didn’t remember this. I always remembered me to be the cool kid, and Jensen the loser nerd no one talked to. We looked so tiny, so unworried of the future, or the past. His green eyes were still just as green, and even back then he was several inches shorter than me. We both had skinned knees and wide grins, and I wanted that.

 

I wanted it all to be simple like back then. I wanted the days that my parents were still happy and together, a _family._ I wanted Jensen to still be my friend, and I wanted the greatest trouble in my life to be what I was getting for Christmas.

 

I wanted simplicity, beautiful, merciful simplicity and innocence.

 

_______________________

                                

I sat in class next to this flaming redhead named Adam. He was giant queer, as judging by his perfectly gelled hair, shiny lips that suspiciously looked to be the product of cosmetics, and fashion that just screamed “I love men!”. And it made me jealous to no end, this kid. How he was so comfortable with who he was, so unlike me.

 

Most kids didn’t even bother with him, picking on him I mean. He just didn’t care what people thought of him, and it reminded me of Jensen, in a way.

 

It also pissed me off to no end the bond he had with Jensen, or the bond he _wanted_ with Jensen. It was like he was the captain of the Jensen fan club. He was always slipping him notes, or touching him, and doing all the things I wanted to do to Jensen.

 

Last Valentines Day, he even slipped Jensen a valentine, the thirsty dog. I wanted to find out what the letter held, to make Jensen smile that wide, sweet angelic smile that only seemed to grace his features when he wasn’t around me.

 

I watched from my seat in the back as Jensen rushed in, books clutched tightly to his body, eyes trained on the ground. This was the first day he was back in school since I tripped him and ultimately ruined the two things he seemed to hold dearest in the world.

 

He didn’t have the sweater he seemed to wear everyday, I noticed as my hands come to rest on my pencil, squeezing hard. He was wearing a plain grey Henley t-shirt and a plaid checkered shirt. He wasn’t even wearing the carefully ironed chino pants he seemed to favor, he was wearing jeans, and he looked so uncomfortable wearing them I almost looked away. It was like seeing a dolphin wearing a tophat. Or your dad as an underwear model.

 

Everyone seemed to notice the change as the atmosphere got silent and all the attention shifted from the Calculus lecture to him. It seemed so weird, to look at him.

 

I felt raw emotion build up, my eyes watering and my fist clenching. He sat in the row in front of mine, and that’s where I saw the bible. It was so broken; it looked like it needed surgery if it was human.

 

I knew how much Jensen loved that book. I’ve seen him gently flipping the pages, as if he wasn’t even allowed to touch it. I knew how much he treasured it, taping and gluing every single miniscule tear he seemed to find. It was in perfect condition, it even shined, I thought.

 

The spine of it was completely cracked in half from Jensen’s weight on top of it. I was sure it was some family heirloom, worn through the ages. It had mud stained on the entire cover of it, but most of the excess had been wiped off through hours of handiwork, I imagine. The pages almost had me in tears.

 

It looked as if a dog dragged it through the mud and bit and chewed on it. There were many folds and ridges, I could tell even without the book being opened. He still clutched onto it, and I felt the guilt wrack my body.

 

I did that. I ruined the only two stable things Jensen had, or seemed to care about. I looked around, and realized they were back on focusing on the lesson; Jensen forgotten, as usual, faded into the background.

 

The class could not go any slower, with Jensen sitting directly in my sight of vision. I couldn’t focus on anything, besides keeping my breathing in check and not exploding in anger.

 

Chad’s still sort of an ass. He sat in the row in front of Jensen, second from the front. He whispered in a soft trill, “Hi? Where’s your sweater?” It was snarky and sarcastic, but breathless and soft, mocking the soft-spoken voice of Jensen.

 

Jensen tensed, his hand clutching his bible even harder. He was biting his stupidly pretty and pink lips, a nervous habit I guess no one broke him from. Not that it needed breaking. Jensen was just sort of perfect.

 

“Did your child-molester of a father take it from you?” He whispered in that same breathless voice, and I never hated him more since that moment. That was a low blow, and I knew it and he knew it too. Jensen visibly changed and reacted, and I didn’t need to see his face to know he was on the verge of tears. His shoulders shook, and the skin visible from my view paled, from his long swanlike neck all the way to his ankles.

 

He raised his hand, and Mr. Joseph called on him immediately, completely disregarding the sentence he hadn’t finished yet. All the teachers had a soft spot for Jensen, guess they knew what assholes like me put him through.

 

“Do Yo- Can I go to the restroom?” Jensen’s soft voice was hoarse and broken sounding. My hand clenched against my desk, as if to stop myself from jumping up and holding him and never letting go. The teacher nodded and Jensen sprang up, about to run and I saw his face for the first time since he came in. It was slightly red and blotchy, eyes bloodshot. He ran for the door, banging his leg in the process. Chad and other of my “friends” started sniggering immediately, and I saw a stray tear spill through. I placed a hand on my cheek as if it was Jensen’s, tracing the tear down to my chin.

 

I realize just how hard I was taking Jensen and his issues. It wasn’t like I was a gay, there were too many differences between me and Adam. I had bulging muscles the width my waist used to be, while he was toned but noticeably softer. Where he had, carefully styled tresses that were clean cut, I had shaggy long hair that seemed to have a mind of its own, refusing to lay flat. Where he had a soprano voice, I had a manly gruff. We were polar opposites. I wasn’t gay as much as Adam was straight, I tried to convince myself. I didn’t even believe myself.

 

Jensen came back, 5 minutes before the end of class. The soft wisps of his bangs were sticking to his forehead, the evidence of him washing his face. He seemed calmed down, enough and it put the raw fear building up in my heart to rest.

 

I shook off the feeling as soon as I realized it, I wasn’t gay. I wasn’t gay. I wasn’t gay.

 

The bell rang and I rushed out without a glance at Chad. It was the last class of the day, fucking finally. Drama club was next, I realized with a sigh.

 

I didn’t bother memorizing any of my lines, I didn’t do much these days except mope and drink.

 

We sat in a circle, for drama I mean. I didn’t belong here, it didn’t feel right. This was where the losers and drama geeks were, both of which I was not.

 

We ran the lines, I was being the deliberate asshole who droned on in monotone while the other kids, Jensen included were getting real into it.  Some even stood up to say their lines. I continued droning.

 

Mrs. Harris, Danneel’s mom the drama club leader frowned every time I spoke, which was a lot. I was the male lead, and Jensen and I were the two chumps after some girl’s heart. It was super cliché and overrated.

 

“Jared, maybe you could add a bit _finesse_ into your speak, you know? Really _become_ James Sterling, you feel me?” She said, really even sounding as if talking to a wild animal or fugitive.

 

I nodded, a fake smile that always won the heart of the grocery line lady every time. Jensen looked at me for a second, a pinch between his eyebrows. Then it was over.

 

I saw Jensen outside the school. I think the reason I was semi-obsessed with him was I just felt bad. So I strolled up to him, almost tripping over my size 12 converse. “Hey, Jensen.” I looked around and the lot was empty.

 

He looked wary of me, bottom lip securely between his teeth. “Hi,” he whispered, gaze avoiding mine. I sighed, getting him to warm up to me might be a struggle. I see him stare down at his bible; his only comfort all these years and everything explodes.

 

“Jensen, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for making you deal with my fuck-ups and insecurities. I’m sorry about your bible—and your sweater and everything! I’m sorry about waking up and realizing this is my fricking _life!_ That screwing up your life isn’t just a phase. That this really matters! I’m just.. I’m just sorry.” I ended with a whisper, all the fire and passion slowly draining out from me. I look up from my size 12 ratty converse again and I see him. I see him and all the things I used to make fun of him for were perfect. I didn’t realize how fucked up and queer that was till later.

 

Jensen was obviously shell-shocked. His eyes were wide, wide like a deer caught in the headlights. His pupils were blown wide, and I realized what exact color his eyes were. They weren’t just ‘green’; they were the color of the first sprouts of the soft grass in my backyard I spent summers in. They were the color of the first dollar I got from the tooth fairy, back when I believed in that. They were the color of the jellybeans my mom used to pack me every single day for snack. Only the sour-apple green ones, ‘cause they were the only ones I ate. They were the color _home,_ of _belonging._

 

I realized what we were doing. We were staring into each other’s eyes, in a parking lot with no one else there, in the middle of the day. And we didn’t care, or at least I didn’t.

 

I made my eyes as vulnerable and open and genuine as I possibly could, hoping to make Jensen really see me. “Jared- I. It’s okay.” And that’s all I needed to hear. That soft, absolutely-NOT-feminine, breathless voice telling me I was okay. That my life was okay. I wasn’t done, not yet. He sounded so caring and touched, I felt like bawling.

 

“Jared, it’s okay. It’s okay.” He repeated, and it was a total hug moment, but there wasn’t a hug. I felt close anyway, to Jensen I mean, without any physical contact.

 

Then we stood in silence. Jensen still clutching that bible, and I would’ve sworn I saw a bit of tear trail down his cheek. Guess this was a big deal for him, too.

 

I guess the silence turned awkward, because we started talking again. We were both staring at that runaway flyer being blown through the wind, advertising the opening show for our play, “Something About.”

 

“So, were you even trying today? Or is being horrible your talent?” He semi-laughed, gaze meeting mine as if for the first time. My breath hitched, the wind blowing through his hair and making it flip out in the most, well _Jensen_ way.

 

“Yeah, I was meaning to ask you about that. You- You wanna help me memorize my lines sometime? Or whenever you want.” I said hurriedly, my voice still a little out of it, sound foreign to my ears. I let my hand coming up to run through my ridiculous greaser hair. I see his eyes follow my hand as I try to make a line through my tangled hair.

 

He pondered it a moment, “No, a favor like that needs to be for the good of everyone. It can’t just be about you. You need to grovel, maybe send some fruit baskets...” He trailed off and my jaw almost dropped to how _normal_ he was. How non-stuttery and _normal._

 

“It _is_ for the good of everyone! I’m going to ruin the play if you don’t help me!” I groveled playfully, face slipping into the puppy-dog face I was known for. Jensen snorted at that, and then smiled. “Fine. But you owe me. I’ll see you afterschool tomorrow?” He asked, the sun coming down in an especially man-pretty way on his blonde hair.

 

I wanted him now. I wanted to talk to him and keep on apologizing and hug him right _now._

 

I hesitated and Jensen saw it, by the way he cocks his head to the side. “Actually, Jenn-“I stopped myself, “-sen. Jensen. Can you do it today?”

 

He smiled, as if knowing something I didn’t and he schools it into a bitch-face stronger then my Dad’s when he sees sum’m he doesn’t like. Basically his face whenever he sees me.

 

“Ugh,” he huffed, and for a second I honestly thought he wasn’t going to, not going to what, I didn’t know. . Then his face turns so bright and so goddamn _happy_ it takes my breath away.

 

He was standing there, and nothing changed. He was still that little kid from the picture, just without the gaps in his teeth. And in that moment I realized for all the shit me and my friends gave him for his clothes, it didn’t matter. None of it did.

 

He was still Jensen. He was just in clothes that fit our standards, but Jensen, Jensen will never, ever fit anyone’s little perfect boxes. He was Jensen, in his own rediculously perfect way. He always was.

 

“Jared, I would really like to have you over…” He trailed off.

 

“But…?” I continued for him, awaiting the answer. “But, I’m not sure what my dad’ll think of it. Do you mind just waiting for tomorrow? I know, it’s going to hard, what with my perfection and stuff.” He laughed, and I did too. We kinda just synchronize like that.

 

“Yeah sure, Jensen, whatever you want.” I said, and in that moment I knew my life mission was to make Jensen’s life as easy as possible. To make up for my asshole-icity towards him all these years.

 

Jensen smiled at me again, and I could really get used to him giving me that look all day, every day. It was calm, serene, like an ocean. But it was clear it held something somber and quiet and carefully hidden. Like he was hurt one too many times. Like the huge, violent waves were just beginning to show itself, concealed, but could break out in any second. But it was still, calm Jensen. It was weird, how much a smile made you think.

 

We said our goodbyes, and I watched from a distance as Jensen, littler-than-me-Jensen, managed to climb into a giant silver truck as he did every single day that I knew him.

 

It’s crazy how that smile I soon obsessed over, made me realize I was always paying attention to Jensen. Even when I didn’t realize it. He was just always _there._ He was the solid that never changed, even through my parents divorce, and my pet chinchilla dying and even when I lost my first tooth.

 

It was weirdly comforting, if I ignored the fact that I never let him just pass by, I always made it my business to put him down, and demean him. I felt gross and guilty all over again.

___________________________________________________________ 

 

I came in smiling, which was weird, I suppose. My mom gave me a look, but didn’t ask. She was kinda perfect like that. She just passed me a plate of hot pockets, the same as she’s done every day after school since I was 7.

 

“Hey, momma.” I haven’t called her that in years. Her head snapped up immediately, and she smiled at me, and she looked younger than I ever remembered her being.

 

“Hey, baby.” She said, and I almost forgot how I made her life a living hell. Almost.

 

She came pottering around to the little bar stool I was sitting on. “What’s up?” she asked, and I looked at her funny.

 

What **is** up? What am I doing? Where am I going? So many questions I didn’t have answers to. “I don’t know, mom. I just, I wish things were different.” I said, honestly. I realized this was the first conversation we had when I wasn’t yelling and she wasn’t crying and things weren’t shot to hell.

 

“Aw, I know. But we gotta live and learn. And move on. Don’t be so stuck in the past. You’re gonna realize that a lot of the regrets you have, they already moved on too.” She said, her manicured hand running through my hair comfortably.

 

I didn’t really believe in moving on, though. I believe in being forced on, to only move when I had to. See, when you’re a giant bum who doesn’t work, doesn’t study and doesn’t do other activities besides drink, you think. You think a lot. In fact, most of my days are spent thinking.

 

Which was what I was thinking, when I went to lay down. The smile resurfaced again. It was wide and dimpley, like my fathers, but my nose squeezed up a certain way like my mothers. I always noticed this, even when I was way little.

 

I wondered about my sudden fascination with Jensen. Was I gay? And in the moment, comparing myself to Adam, I was the straightest straight person ever to walk the world-straight-ly.

 

But that was breaking myself into tiny insignificant boxes. That was stereotyping. That was being asshole-Jared. To be Jared-Jared, I looked at myself unprejudiced-ly. Did I like guys?

 

I thought about it for awhile. No, I never liked guy-S. I always digged skinny girls with big boobs and tiny waists. I always did. But then Jensen Ackles, and his stupid man-pretty ways waltzed into my life and everything changed.

 

It’s like everything I knew, all the idealisms and things I thought, no _knew_ I was, were wrong. And it seemingly happened overnight.

 

One day I was the macho weed-fiend with muscles and girls falling over me. I was the fucking example of a stud.

 

And then the next day, I’m _fawning_ over Jensen and his pretty eyes, and his pretty lips and his pretty freckles... I was falling, hard and fast and nothing was stopping me.

 

And the scariest part of it, I was enjoying every step down.

 


End file.
